When It Started
by purplemud
Summary: Three thousand nine hundred seventy-two miles. Three hundred sixty five days. Naley and you’d never guess.
1. Chapter 1

**When It Started**  
By Grace (purplemud)  
**Pairing**: Naley and you'd never guess.  
**Summary**: He tells all the girls he'd slept with that he doesn't believe in love. This is a lie.  
**Warning**: Spoilers for season 7.  
**Author's note**: Okay, maybe I have gone insane. You tell me. Haha.  
**Disclaimers: **Standard disclaimers apply.

He tells all the girls he'd slept with that he doesn't believe in love.

This is a lie.

Everything starts with a girl and with a lie.

But not everyone believes the lie. Some girls, the more perceptive ones, they'd look at him sadly, almost pityingly. These are the girls who doesn't mind if he calls out another girl's name when he's pounding, moving, so deep inside of them, his head buried against the crook of their neck, wisps of blonde hair sticking against his cheeks, a jagged line across his skin, across his eyes. Yellow-faded-white-silver-blonde.

Not the color of her hair.

When he tells them that he doesn't believe in love, they know the utter wretchedness of that lie. He can see it in their huge blue eyes, green eyes, eyes the color of the skies and the seas.

Not the color of her eyes.

It doesn't matter. Eventually the lie will become the truth. This he fervently hopes. Every day he hopes for this. Every time he's near enough her to secretly count the times she'd quirk her lips up in that playfully smile that he doesn't own.

He's too old for this shit. But he can't escape her. Her joy is his and _his_ joy as well. When he surprised her with a ticket to watch a game at Atlanta, she'd given her that warm smile. A friendly smile. A friendly hug. A friendly kiss on the cheeks. He makes sure to send her one surprise away-game ticket every month. This way, he keeps everyone happy. It's his job. Keep everyone happy.

Her misery is his misery and _his_ misery as well. Although his is always a secret misery and when her bestfriend leaves for Europe, he makes plans. He makes phone calls. It's what he does. It's what he's good at. He still has the unused tickets for London. He can't, won't jeopardize his career for this. This impossibility. This madness.

He's too smart for that. He finds ways to forget her.

Girls that aren't her. That can't be her. That will never be her. He brings them home, fucks them – sometimes, he pretends to love them – but most of the time, he just wants to forget. It doesn't work. It never does.

He's heard her sing before. It rips him. Shreds him. Her voice finds little crevices underneath his skin and it stay there, echoes all over his blood stream. So he doesn't listen to any of her songs. Except for that one night when she sang for him, it's their song, she tells the audience. It's a love song of course. It promises always and forever.

He had watched in silence as she quirks up her mouth: playful, secret smile that doesn't belong to him. He pretends it does. If he stands directly behind his own client, it's easy to pretend that she's his.

He realizes belatedly that he should not have drunk that much, but it was a good year and she wanted to celebrate it. He couldn't say no. They both couldn't say no. He's pretty sure why exactly this is. She just looks up at you with those eyes, pulls you in, makes you feel warm and wrong all at the same time.

When she jumped off the stage, into the waiting arms of her husband, planting a long, lingering kiss, he had scrambled to get out of Tric. Grabbed a drink on his way out. Picked up a girl too. Tall and slender, no delicious, wonderful curves. Her hair is darker though - almost near the same color as hers.

She'll have to do.

He didn't have the time or energy to pick out someone who could never be her. And in the morning, like always, when they're picking up discarded clothes on the floor, he tells her that he doesn't believe in love.

"I don't believe in love." He tells her, avoiding her blue-green eyes.

She glances at him, midway through zipping up her dress. He keeps his stare focused on the still darkened sky. He can't stand to look at her. He knows she heard him last night, when he had his arms around her, when he was ever so gently moving inside of her, when he had tenderly kissed her collarbone and another name slips past his lips.

_"Haley. Ha---ley..."_

He doesn't believe in love.

This is a lie.

What he truly, doesn't believe in, he realizes with a start is: always and forever.

When the girl who isn't her finally leaves, he starts the tedious process of trying to erase all traces her - what was her name? Amy? _Amy_. Maybe. It's not important. He changes his sheets. Yanks them off the bed, tosses them into the wash. What he needs to do is to keep his hands busy. They're shaking, he notices, but he ignores this. He makes coffee. He drops on his couch, turns on the TV and stares blankly at ESPN.

Today's sports news. Today's stats. Yesterday's stats.

He needs to not think, because ideas are dropping like little seeds inside his brain and it's quickly, dangeroulsy taking roots.

He's too old for this shit. He's too smart.

He's too lonely.

This is the truth.

And so he makes plans. He makes phone calls. It's what he does. It's what he's good at.

- * * *

End note: Right. So I don't know if this will remain a crazy, useless one-shot or if something comes up but for now, we'll leave it as it is. I do like Clayton. I think he's a nice guy. And it would be so predictable if he turns out to be in love with Haley and just using Quinn as a perfectly good ruse to cover up his feelings towards his client's (friend's) wife. Right? I mean, this all AU. And anyway, hasn't OTH gone over that plot before? I think. Refresh my memory here. So, yeah, this me on some apparently weird brownies. That would also explain if I have some weird Clayton/Haley vibe going around. What do we call them anyway? I mean just in case? Claley?

Unless someone else takes credit, let me be the first insane person to guilt-ship Clayton and Haley. LOL.

I would accept major flaming. Would understand it in fact. So... ugh, feel free to tell me what you think. The title is real bad, I know. Sorry for that.


	2. Chapter 2

**When It Started**  
By Grace (purplemud)  
**Pairing**: Naley and take a guess...  
**Summary**: He tells all the girls he'd slept with that he doesn't believe in love. This is a lie.  
**Warning**: AU-ish. But with spoilers for season 7.  
**Author's note**: Okay, maybe I have gone insane. You tell me. Haha.  
**Disclaimers: **Standard disclaimers apply.

A story always begins with a girl and with a lie.

Clayton should ask Lucas about that. Lucas writes stories. He can tell this better and Lucas would know how. Clayton doesn't have a fucking clue where to start. If he could figure out the moment, it'll be easier. As it is, all he has are clustered memories. All of them are worst and better than the last one. He can't decide yet. Some he won't ever tell. Some he'd relive over and over until he dies. Some he wishes he can easily forget. But he's supposed to tell a story. So he plucks one.

This isn't a random choice, you should know. He picks this story for a reason. And this one, it starts with: She sprained her wrist two months ago.

This could have been easily prevented if she had been like the other wives of the basketball team. But she wasn't. She didn't like getting any special treatment, had always been adamant about this. And when she insisted on some things, Nathan and Clayton knows not to go against her. The wrath of Haley James-Scott is a force to be reckoned with.

Nathan swears that this is true.

Clayton hasn't seen her be especially angry and he isn't going to test the validity of his client's statement. And so despite Nathan's protests and cajoling, Clay would always get her regular season tickets, all regular seats. Not the ones directly behind the team, with assistants hovering around her ready to hand her drinks or anything that she fancies. None of those VIP boxed-rooms too. Haley detested being stuck inside those nearly freezing rooms where flat screen TVs are mounted on the walls. Everything in high definition. Crisp images flickering, in all possible angles. Angles that you can choose from, slow-mo, pause, fast forward. The Game Ti-Voed.

Inside that room, the surround sound system would blare and capture every little squeak and swish of shoes and nets so that when a player curses underneath his breath, every one hears the angry: 'fucking, stupid motherfucking referee', reverberate inside the room. And amidst all these, there's a bunch of waiters serving everyone drinks. Cocktails, for the more troubled wives.

For the record, Haley isn't a snob. She joins all the charity events organized by the Head Wives. She eagerly sings when they ask her to. She makes sure to attend all the events that she could, but she would never hang around these deeply-tanned, teetering on hundred dollar, three-inched high heeled stiletto shoes, fancy diamond, bling-bling wearing wives.

It just isn't her crowd.

"This isn't high school." She tells them that night, "I want to be with them," Her hand makes enthusiastic gesturing movements towards the crush of screaming fans surrounding the court. Regular seats. "I want to go absolutely crazy with them when you make those… harder than normal shots."

"Dunks." Nathan tells her, looking down at her, arms wrapped around her shoulders, her whole body pressed against his side.

It's an inside joke because Haley lets out a chuckle, rolling her eyes. "Whatever, Mr. Keeper and Protector of Basketball Terms."

Nathan snorts and mutters an affectionate, "Dork."

Haley playfully whacks him in the arms.

"Hales, it's a mad house out there."

This is true. And if they weren't playing an away game, Nathan wouldn't really have mind but his wife was wearing his colors around a sea of green and whites.

"So? I want you to look up at the stands and take a guess at where I am." And then she turns her face, her neck, elegant and pale almost vulnerable-looking against the harsh stadium lights and she looks up adoringly, her dark brown eyes flashing.

She always get that way when she's being playful and flirty.

And where is Clay?

Clay is hovering around them, shifting his weight from foot to foot. He feels out of place but he isn't going to go anywhere else. He stays there on his spot, quiet like a shadow.

"Baby, you know, I always find you."

Clayton isn't sure if this is a truth or a lie. Something tells him that it's a little of both. Nathan always knows where Haley'll be, even if Clayton sometimes forgets to tell Nathan what box she's seated. Nathan's eyes may not be able to pick out Haley from the crowd but he is certain that Nathan knows the spot where his wife is standing on her toes, jumping up and down and screaming his name.

A chorus of 'Go Nathan!" and Haley's voice is there.

Nathan knows her voice.

Clayton knows it too.

"Ready, Nate?" Someone asks from behind them and Clay turns his head, just in time to watch Nathan lean down to capture Haley's lips in a deep kiss. It's not long or overly passionate. It's a kiss from a husband to his wife. It stakes claim. Possession. Clay ignores this. Or he tries to.

"Go and have fun out there." Haley's voice is low and sweet, the words murmured against Nathan's lips.

Clayton barely hears her. He steps away from them, eyes still scanning the crowd. Bigger crowd tonight. Bigger team, bigger stadium. Sometimes, away games are better than home games. The more people see how well Nathan plays, the better. The coverage would have a wider audience reach, too. Opportunities everywhere. Contacts to be made. Business cards to hand out...from the corner of his eyes, he sees (he doesn't want to see this but he sees it anyway) Haley pulling away from the kiss, a dazed look on her face. Nathan re-wraps his arms around her, pulling her back, bending a little to whisper something in her ears.

Haley's whole face lights up.

She glows like that every time. And sometimes it hurts to look at her. That small, secret glowing little smile.

Clayton clears his throat. "C'mmon, I'll show you your seat."

* * *

That was two months ago.

That night, Haley had been sitting on the upper boxes and in the roaring, mind-numbing adrenalin rush of a winning game; someone had accidentally pushed her down.

She's clumsy. That's supposedly a truth. Clayton doesn't see it. She seems graceful and light on her feet but birds apparently attack her for no reason at all when she was younger. She's adorable that way.

But that night, it wasn't clumsiness. It's reflex. She had used both her hands to break her fall.

Bad call.

The little fucker who had bumped into her got cornered outside, huge bouncers pushing, shoving him against the wall. Just a friendly reminder to be more careful next time. They made sure of that. Him and Nate. It wasn't such a difficult thing to do. CCTV cams everywhere and these, bouncers, they know Haley James-Scott too. They like her. And they were more than happy to teach some punk a lesson he'd better remember. Or else.

But of course, that came later. First, they found her outside the locker room, standing in the middle of insanity. Reporters, sports agents, assistants, TV crews. People mashed all in one place, eagerly awaiting for a scoop, a quote. Flashes everywhere, names being shouted, everyone talking and laughing. Chaos. And there she was, standing still, one arm bent behind her back.

She looked smaller, pressed against the wall.

Clay realized that instant how small she is. Almost painfully so.

And she was definitely more subdued. Haley's been to enough games that Clay already knows what to expect from her. And, committed to his memory, he knows how exactly Haley looks after every game: all wonderfully flushed. Vibrant. Her cheeks infused with the color of red, red wine.

That night, she was pale and quiet. So not like the Haley that he's used to seeing, it brought a sharp, surprising pain across his chest.

Sensing that something was wrong, Nathan immediately went to her, ignoring every congratulatory remark, every well done pat on his backs. He had the intense look that made everyone jump out of his way and almost literally the crowd parted for him.

It must've been hurting Haley pretty badly because by this time, she'd usually meet Nathan halfway, she would've already jumped into his arms and gave him a hug, whether they won or lost.

Not that night.

She stood on her toes and bravely smiled on (more like a grimace), reaching out to give Nathan a one-armed hug, awkwardly patting him in the shoulder.

Clay and Nathan shared a look.

"Let me see your hand." Nathan quietly demanded and when Haley reluctantly showed them, wincing at the movement, Nathan was beyond pissed.

Clay had seen Nate get angry and frustrated, but never like this. Shoulders tensed and hunched as he leaned down, boxing Haley in, arms like walls trying to protect her. But it was too late. Her wrist was already swollen. Blue and black and green. The swirl of colors that didn't belong on her skin.

She's supposed to be all cream, honey and roses. Not these angry, nasty colors.

"Hales, what happened?"

Clay expected this to come out harsh, like a menacing growl but it's a gentler tone. One he had never heard Nathan use before. He watched as Nathan tenderly held out Haley's hand, examining it, running his thumbs against the discolored, three-toned skin.

Haley flushed scarlet. "I… this is embarrassing, but, fine, I fell. I… it's nothing really. It just needs some ice." She tried to pull her hand back, but Nathan wouldn't let go.

"It's not nothing. You're hurt!" Nathan insisted that she go see a doctor, a specialist. Their team's own physician. He would've demanded it and would've gotten it too, but Haley refused.

Clay stood there, listening to them argue, phone in hand. He was always good in a crisis. Always in control. Especially situations like this. He always knows what to do next and how to do it. He's a complete and total professional. Always.

A car was already on its way, the nearest hospital already had a room waiting for her. Haley didn't have a choice. With Nathan looking sternly down at her and with Clay having just finished the call, she grudgingly agreed to go and get her wrist checked out.

Rolling her eyes, Haley, who had been too busy trying to ease Nathan's worry, finally glanced at him, wincing as she cradled her hand against her chest. "I really hate hospitals, Clay. I wish you hadn't called."

"Damn right he should. We're going. Now." Nathan started to make his way out of the crowded hall, Haley still inside his arms, but Clayton remembering something, held him back.

"You can't Nate."

Nathan stopped mid-step, turned and glared at him. "What the fuck do you mean I can't?"

This time, the words were harsh.

Clay didn't back down. There was a press conference to attend to. It had been a great game. Nathan had exploded in the third quarter and people were already buzzing about this win. He had to do this. This was all part of his fledgling-turning-hot career.

Nathan looked at him like he was a blabbering idiot and his client didn't even have to say anything.

The way the muscles of Nathan's jaws were working, it was practically written on his face: Fuck the conference.

His client was going to ditch a roomful of eager sports journalist waiting and wanting to interview him, to quote him.

To hell with them.

As far as Nathan was concerned, his team won; he scored 34 points, half of it in one quarter alone. End of story. He didn't need to make any statements; he was going with his wife to the hospital. Fuck them all.

But Haley wouldn't have that. She wanted him to bask in his glory. It's his moment, he deserved to be there.

More argument.

Now wrapped inside Nathan's arms, their roles were suddenly reversed: Nathan had gone quite, almost as though he was the one wounded and in pain. Haley's voice was soothing, gentle. The injured hand resting against Nathan's chest, the other was clutching a fistful of Nathan's shirt.

Nathan muttered something before helplessly turning towards him. There was a dark look in him and Clay can already tell the outcome of the conference. It would be short. No smiles. All monosyllabic answers. There'd be no jovial, boisterous joking around. Nathan in a bad mood had never been good at interviews. Even if the press would be raining down accolades on him, this would be one of those interviews were people are bound to call him "stoic jackass".

Clay would have to do some damage control after this interview. Swallowing hard, Clayton finally stepped forward. "I'll take her."

It was all logical. All part of the job.

Truth. Lie. Both.

Nathan's eyes narrowed, his gaze never wavering. Clay blinked, but otherwise kept his stare leveled. It was the closest thing to a stare down that they'd ever have and if there was any tension between them it quickly fizzled out as Haley began tugging at her husband's sleeves, getting Nathan's full attention. "See, Clayton can take me. I'll be fine."

Nathan tightened his hold on her, pulling Haley even closer to him, still mindful of the injured hand cradled between them. "I don't know, baby-"

"It's a stupid little sprain Nathan. I'll meet up with you at the hotel."

Nathan was quite for a whole minute. Sighing deeply, regretfully, he finally relented, jaws clenched, his face bearing the strain of his frustration.

Clayton waited, watching as Haley reached up to gently brush her uninjured knuckles against Nathan's cheeks.

"I'll be okay." Her eyes had darkened even more. Almost dark-black now. Wonderful, bitter chocolates.

Nathan closed his eyes and took hold of Haley uninjured wrist, breathing in deeply, his nose nudging against her pulse point before kissing her hand.

It's an almost childlike gesture and Clay only ever sees Nathan be like this with Haley.

Eyes never leaving Haley's, Nathan finally spoke up, his voice sounding like a deadly threat, "Call me as soon as you get there and tell me everything that the doctor says."

This was meant for him and Clayton wordlessly nodded his head. He turned his back then, no longer a willing witness to this public display of affection. Besides, he already knew this routine.

They'd hugged one last time. Lingeringly. And then a kiss.

He could hear the hitching of Haley's breath and then a brush of skin against his arms. He didn't have to look down. He knew already. Nathan had finally let go and Haley was now beside him, small, strong, delicate, fierce and fragile all at the same time.

Not his.

Clay briefly looked down at her, her brown eyes were dark and glazed-over.

She's not seeing him and Clayton knows this.

* * *

On their way to the hospital they were both silent.

Well, she was silent.

He kept calling everyone on his phone. Contracts to review. Deadlines for this and that, today, tonight, tomorrow, next week, next month, next year. Didn't matter. He needed to keep busy. Distraction. That was what he needed, because she was sitting so close to him and he wished he could tell her to lay her face against his chest so she'd feel how much his heart was going just absolutely fucking ballistic.

Don't make things too personal. This is work. Be busy. Keep working.

The voice at the other of the line still sounded sleepy and slowly becoming irritable.

Clay doesn't care.

"You're becoming the best damn sports agent, Clay. This is ridiculous."

True. He'd never given so much of his time and attention for anyone or anything before. But he'd never really had been so emotionally invested in anything. Ever. Clenching his jaws, he lets out a tired almost defeated sigh. "I'll call you back."

"Call tomorrow, it's one fucking a.m. on a Sunday, Clay."

Fuck you. You try wanting your client's wife and let's see what you'll do.

"I want those contracts faxed on my office by Monday." He's being rude and pushy. Sometimes that worked. Sometimes it was just a way to let out his own sets of frustrations. He pressed the end button, scrolling down on his contact list, wondering who else he could call, what else he could do. Draft contracts for next season. That's on his To Do List for next month. He can - he should work on that.

A voice inside his head chides him: Can't be too indispensable, Clay. You know that.

That was his first lesson doing this job. He's not supposed to be taking care of _everything_. It's a complete impossibility. He can't be everywhere all the time. He should prioritize. Where he should be right now, was at the press conference, with his client, standing behind him and smirking at the press, at other sports agents, at scouts, at team managers. An "I Told You So" smirk plastered all over his place. For little things like this, a hospital trip for a possible wrist injury, he should have someone else to do this for him. This was a stupid thing to do. He could've asked someone else to take her.

Haley.

He glanced down at her. She seemed to have fallen asleep. Her head tilted back, eyes closed. She's totally unaware of him.

Clayton sucks in his breath.

He remembers something his father told him when he was just starting out as a sports agent. His father had told him that if he did everything right, if he's always saving someone's ass, eventually everyone will become like leeches. They'll always expect him to do everything, to take care of everything. More than just their careers, but their personal lives as well without him ever being truly a part of it. He'd always be an outsider.

_And what happens __when they don't need a hero anymore? Or ____W_hen you get tried to playing the hero?  


Clayton doesn't want to get tired of being a Hero. He wants to be the guy who makes things happens. Miracles. That's what he does. Because didn't everyone tell him that he'd never get Nathan Scott, Volatile, Almost Had Been, One Time High School Point Shaver Basketball Prodigy, a contract worth anything?

He had made it happen.

Miracle.

Haley called him that once. Stood on her toes, thanked him for making it all happened. Brushed her lips against his cheeks, "You're a miracle, Clay."

And Haley never lies.

* * *

At the hospital, he was allowed to touch her. He didn't have to, but he couldn't help himself. "Nathan said I should take care of you." He reminded her, keeping his tone light. "You want him to kick my ass when you fall down the second time under my care?"

Haley glared at him and he gladly, lightly wrapped his arm around her waist as he led her towards the X-ray room. He also asked for an MRI. Haley would probably be as pissed as Nathan when she finds out (and she had been when she did) that he'd gotten every possibly physical exam needed to check on her wrist.

There'd be at least an hour of waiting. The interview would also be over by then and Nathan would probably be rushing here, worried. A nervous wreck. Nathan rarely shows any form of emotion but when he does, he doesn't hold back. Nathan would also quickly ask him to relinquish the job of taking care of Haley. He'd be dismissed quickly and he'd go shuffling to his own hotel room, alone.

Clay didn't want to think about that. Not right now. Instead he paced on the hallway until he was led and offered to sit at the posh VIP waiting room. The couches were expensive, spacey. The whole room in subdued relaxing colors. Tastefully decorated and furnished. It looked almost like a hotel lobby.

He approved. After all, this was part of his job: only the best for his clients.

A few minutes later, a nurse came in to let him know that the Haley was finished with the X-ray. He immediately sat up straighter; dropping the phone he had been mindlessly, uselessly twirling around and around. Crazy circle to pass time. All calls and text messages now ignored. He bent to pick it up. "How is she?"

"She'll be okay. Looks like a Grade I sprain. Nothing is torn or broken."

Clayton didn't realize he'd been holding his breath the whole time. He let out a relieved sigh just as his phone started ringing. He glanced at the screen. It was Nathan. And for the first time in his life, as an agent, Clayton ignored a phone call from a client. He didn't dwell too much on that She was fine. That was the important thing. A little hurt but nothing serious. At least that was something to tell Nathan when he finally talked to him. And no doubt, Nathan would be more than royally pissed at him for ignoring his call.

"How much longer?" He asked instead, looking up at the nurse.

"Just a few more minutes. She'd need a wrist splint. And ice, later."

And already his fingers are moving, sending out a text message to his assistant. _Call hotel now. Need ice at Nate's room. _

"Okay. Good." That's taken care of. "Anything else?" There must be something else that he could do.

The nurse smiled at him. "You can relax now. I'm sure your-" She paused, her eyebrows raised in silent question.

Clayton blinked, looked straight into the nurse's eyes.

A woman.

A lie.

"Wife. She's my wife. I'm her husband."

And that's how all stories starts.

-end-

- * * *

End note: And the craziness continues. So, ugh. Yeah, that's the second one-shot for the my one sided Clayley. LOL. Didn't they look cute then he put his arms around her last episode? I know, it's probably just me. Anyway, this chapter is for everyone that had left a review and had been supportive of this crazy little fic. Thanks so much for the love. I really appreciate it. Please free freel to let me know what you guys think. Thank you so much in advance.


	3. Chapter 3

**When It Started**  
By Grace (purplemud)  
**Pairing**: Naley and you'd never guess.  
**Summary**: Every romantic story has to have that dance or else, it isn't a story worth telling. Even if it's just one dance.  
**Warning**: Spoilers for season 7.  
**Author's note**: Many wonderful thanks to everyone who have read and reviewed and have not yet thrown anything at me for all the Clayley madness. LOL. This one is for **pam211**. She had wanted a longer chapter, so here it is. I hope it didn't disappoint. Also special mention to **Danika - **I think I have to agree with you, Clay is who Nathan might have been if he hadn't met Haley.  
**Disclaimers: **Standard disclaimers apply.

There is always a significant dance between lovers.

Every romantic story has to have that dance or else, it isn't a story worth telling. Even if it's just one dance.

That one dance, it matters. It can change the whole course of the story.

Of course, sometimes, it's just that, one memorable dance to play inside your head over and over again until the music, the song, is blurred into silence. Until the way you held the girl becomes nothing but a faint, fading memory. But you'll always remember the girl. Always.

Clay had danced with Haley before. Many times, too. But he remembers the first time. Sort of. And since this isn't a romantic story – far from it – it's only fitting that the first thing that Clay remembers about that dance, that night is: Haley is bored.

He can easily tell this by the way the corner of her mouth is quirked down, her eyes downcast, watching the changing reds of the wine she had been mindlessly swishing about. She's been holding the same drink since they got here.

And here would be the big Bobcats End of Season Thanksgiving Party and Press Conference.

It's a fancy event. Best hotel at Charlotte. Red carpet. Limo service. The best restaurant in town is doing the catering. The best jazz band is playing at the makeshift stage, situated right smack in between the two biggest, adjacent ballrooms, gloriously decorated in Bobcats colors. The whole nine yards. The press conference, being held on the other room, has a slightly more subdued feel. Less festive. More professional. It's where Nathan is right now, along with the rest of the players, granting the press promises of a bigger, better season.

And no, you didn't miss anything. Bobcats didn't win the NBA title. Not yet, they haven't. But you see, after season parties like this are typical events. It's all psychological tactics. Before getting everyone all worked up for the next season, it's important to let the general public know that things are only going to get hotter next season, the coaching staff are going to work harder, the players are going to deliver more, the team will be stronger and better than ever.

Oh, you bet your money on them Bobcats, baby.

That sort of swagger is important. Even if the season ended in a most, well, regular way, with decent enough win-lose records, everyone needs to just step away from the pressure. Loosen up a bit. And then after that, it's almost 4 months of rigorous lock down training camp where everyone will be puking their guts out and staggering into their bunk beds, wondering what they've gotten themselves into. It's all very military-like, when the training starts.

People would be surprise at how extensive NBA pre-season training camps go. Everything is scheduled right down to the last second. Scrimmages. Defensive Offensive plays to read and figure out. Rigorous physical training. No time for any fun parties and the general rest and relaxation the players are getting right now.

Although they're kind of missing all the important three D's of a party: Dinner, drinks and dancing.

The guests: wives and dates of players, the coaching team, the executive people, sports agents, sports analyst, reporters – anyone remotely connected with the Bobcats – are all mingling and laughing about, craning their necks every minute or so, hoping that somewhere within their side of the ballroom, the legendary man himself would be walking along.

Clay hadn't seen him yet but he's sure that Michael Jordan is just around the corner.

This is all both very exciting and oddly enough, tiring as well.

Not that this isn't his kind of fun, because it is. Just right across the room, all the Lady Cats are hanging out at one large table. A blonde winks at him and Clay isn't sure if it's Nic or Stephie. And yes, he's on a first name basis with them. No explanation for that necessary. Normally, he'll wink back and saunter over to her – whoever she is – maybe offer her a drink, maybe even take her home.

Not tonight.

Clay slinks lower in his seat and pretends he didn't see any crooked-fingers, motioning for him to come over and join the other table. He shakes his head no, wishes to God they'd find some other poor guy to tease and flirt with. He isn't in the mood.

Of course Haley is oblivious to all of this.

She's bored. He's an incredibly boring company.

Actually, he isn't really.

If you must know, he can party like the best and the worst of them and have no sense of misgiving about that because he is single, good looking and this is what is expected of him. He plays the role to the hilt and on some nights that he actually enjoys himself, he forgets that nameless ache always hovering by his chest.

Nathan told him once that he is full of shit.

Nathan also told him that he'd never be happy with this kind of life: all the partying and drinking, all the hot girls around him, wanting him. Nathan told him, "All your success, Clay, it wouldn't mean anything if at the end of the day, you go home alone, sit on your bed and wonder why your life still feels empty and miserable."

Nathan can talk like that because he has Haley. Because he has Jamie.

And it's fine with Clay. Really. Because, look, if by some twist of fate, if Clay had met Haley first, he'd be giving the same fucking speech to Nathan.

Clay is sure of this.

Of course, he doesn't tell Nathan this. For one thing, he doesn't want to lose his job. And despite how completely tangled up his feelings had become over the past months; he also doesn't want to lose his friendship with Nathan. And so every time Nathan gives him that speech, Clay rolls his eyes, shakes his head and proceeds to party even harder until Nathan finally gives up on him and Clay is thankful. The last thing he needs is Nathan mentioning a great girl, Lindsey, that he should meet, in hopes of getting his life on track.

It's Haley's idea, apparently.

Clay just loves the irony of that.

He considers telling Haley all of these but immediately decides against it. She'd ask what's wrong with Lindsey and he'd tell her, quite honestly too, that Lindsey seems perfect, only, Lindsey isn't her, so what was the point?

So he just sits still and watches her as discreetly as he could, which is easy enough since she isn't showing any signs that she's aware of his presence. And besides, he lov- likes watching her like this. There is something so calming about the simple, unassuming way she carries herself.

Like now, the way she's slowly tilting her head, her hair falling over to one of her eyes. Haley raises her hand, and Clay hungrily follows the movement of her wrist, of her fingers, as she tucks the stray hair behind her ears.

Clay takes a deep, quiet breath.

Did Nathan, when they were younger, did he notice how delicate Haley looks when she does that hair-tucking thing?

And while Clay solemnly contemplates this, he notices a flicker, a flash of gold just beneath the darker strands of her hair.

It's her wedding ring.

And he thinks, of course Nathan noticed it.

Clay isn't the first guy discovering these things about her and so it isn't – it _shouldn't _be anything special or most especially gut wrenching. He looks away for a second, tells his guts to fucking behave. To get their shit together.

He tells himself, this – whatever this is – it is too hopeless to be had.

He takes another deep breath, glancing at Haley as she brings her hand down, idly picking her phone, checking the time, checking for any missed calls or messages. There are none of course, because Clay had been keeping track as well and he thinks he knows why she hasn't said anything to him for the past few minutes.

Haley is probably missing Jamie.

And this almost coaxes out a small smile from him. Typical. Haley's always been a good – no, great even – mother. He'd watched her and Jamie together countless of times and he's amazed by how she so effortlessly handles everything about Jamie. From the way they talked to each other, mother and son, always so affectionate, always saying their "I love you's", always freely complementing each other, always ready to defend each other.

In his head, he'd always walk over towards them, put his hands around them and they'd be a family.

It's a crazy little fantasy that had planted itself inside his mind and he had spent hours upon hours desperately trying to rub it out of his head. He'd succeeded in never thinking about it anymore, although there were moments like this, when it suddenly, jumps up at him.

Clay shakes his head, clears the vision away. He's turns to Haley, about to tell her that if she wanted, she and Nathan could probably just book a room here and he could go back to Tree Hill, pick up Jamie and they could all stay here, spend the weekend, as a family.

Nathan, Haley and Jamie seemed a lot better than just him, Nathan and Haley.

Plus, he did genuinely like the kid. Who could not like Jamie Scott? He was smart and honest and funny like his mom, incredibly charming like his dad and yet for all of these traits that he got from his parents, he was still Jamie.

Sometimes, everything about the Scotts seemed so perfect. It's almost unreal. Like a too good to be true kind of thing. And if he feels slightly envious about this, Clay thinks that this is perfectly normal.

"Hey Hales," he starts off when she finally places her phone back down, but he stops almost immediately as Haley lets out a soft sigh. The whisper of breath escaping her lips sends something zinging white-hot into his spine.

It's also quite possible, Clay tells himself as he leans back down on his chair, putting as much distance he could from Haley, that she's just missing Nathan.

He swallows hard, before echoing her sigh. And it's a defeated little sound, one that he hadn't made in a long, long time. It brings back memories that he rather not dwell on, so he concentrates on the now, reminding himself that no one has ever really won against… well, against everything: history, fate, always and forever. True love.

Lost cause. He knows what that is.

It sucks, but that's life.

Clay glances at Haley, clears his throat, "You know the presscon would be over soon."

Haley is startled out of her reverie. A look of recognition crossing her face, as though she just suddenly realized that she's in a roomful of people. She shakes her head before looking back at him and tonight, her familiar brown eyes are almost softer. It's the color of caramel. A little lighter than the dress she's wearing.

"Yeah." She answers in a vague, almost disoriented sounding voice.

She looks both lovely and lonely tonight.

But, no lonely isn't the word.

Sad.

That's what she looks like right now.

"Things like this," Clay continues, trying to keep his tone light, waving his hand around, "the presscon is really just an excuse. It's over pretty quickly. It's the party that everyone is actually here for to, you know, have fun," He pauses, looks at her, tilting his head down so that they were eye level. Her trademark huge brown eyes slowly focusing at him.

Like this, if you look at Haley like this, she could never really lie, could never try to hide what she's feeling. And it hits Clayton like a fucking ton of bricks. That unfamiliar shine in her eyes, suddenly, Clay has a name for it.

She's miserable.

"Which you're obviously not having." Clay finishes. Lame. But it doesn't escape him, the lowered tone of his voice and realizing this slip, he reaches out for the almost emptied glass of his drink: a volatile, do not tempt this combination of champagne and cognac. In Vegas, they call this drink the Presidential. Of course there, the champagne is Dom Perignon and the cognac a Remy Martin Louis XIII.

It costs a thousand bucks.

Clayton isn't shitting. This drink though, he's certain that the champagne isn't a Dom Perignon. But the cognac, it's a Remy, alright.

He slowly sips his drink, lets the liquid burn a trail down his throat, pretending that he isn't having some difficulty trying not to check Haley out too much. He'd already done that when he swung by the Scott's earlier and Jamie had caught him.

"Mom's extra pretty tonight, isn't she?"

The kid's got a sharp eye. And a knack of eerily verbalizing things adults around him couldn't make themselves say out loud. Although pretty wasn't really what he had been thinking when he was caught staring at someone's wife.

"She looks gorgeous." He told Jamie, nodding his head at Haley's direction.

"You clean up pretty well, Clay." Haley had answered back patting Jamie's head.

And Clay had been pleased with that. Ridiculously so. Especially with the way had she had smiled up at him before turning her head and laughingly calling out to Nathan, "Babe, your hair is fine!"

Somewhere from the house, Clay heard Nathan chuckling as Jamie continued to quietly stare up at him, an almost familiar Nathan-look gracing the boy's features. That scrutinizing, knowing look. And at that moment, Clay can only be secretly thankful that Nathan hadn't been there because Nathan catches every significant glance thrown at Haley's way and he always gets that possessive scowl on his face.

He'd seen Nathan stare down other guys and how other guys immediately drag their eyes back to some place safer. Preferably somewhere on the opposite direction.

Clay probably would not have easily backed down.

Or maybe he would, considering that Nathan is his client. And friend.

It's complicated. This whole shit about him being painfully attracted to Haley.

It's not like he can ignore her. It's impossible. Even Nathan understands that. But he probably wouldn't be too happy about having his own agent and friend crushing in on his wife. Because, it's just that. A crush. An adult kind of crush. Bordering maybe a little bit farther than like - but so far, nothing really to worry about.

Clay tells himself this a lot.

"Sorry," Haley apologizes to him, bringing his attention back to her, just in time to watch her bite her lips.

A habit that Clay finds equal parts amusing and distracting.

Haley looks down at her glass, mindlessly swishing the wine around and he is just as fascinated with watching the movements of her wrist: the way she flexes it, the veins underneath her skin the most wonderful, fragile shade of blue green.

Clay wonders how it would taste. The lines where the life of her flows and throbs. He'd like very much to drink from it. Both in the tender and romantic way and the equally possessive way. He thinks, maybe he does know how Haley would taste like. It'll be sweet and addicting, he's sure of this, judging by the way Nathan looks at Haley whenever she's within Nate's line of sight.

And this, Clay admits, goes beyond liking. Way beyond. But he doesn't have the energy tonight to violently throttle these kinds of thoughts. There isn't anything right now that's stopping him from wanting her. Usually, he'd get a hold of all these hopelessness before it spirals into something that would wrap itself around him. Like noose around the neck, tightening with every casual glance Haley throws his way until he can't breathe anymore. Usually, Nathan's presence is enough to make it all go away, until it becomes nothing but flecks of scattered, incomprehensible wanting and needing.

Nathan is nowhere near them. It's just him and Haley. Hopeless. Dangerous.

"I just miss Jamie." Haley confesses a heartbeat later, completely unaware of the turmoil slowly uncoiling itself inside Clay's chest. She looks up at him, eyelashes long and dark, a silent, unknowing invitation for him to lean in closer.

She holds his stare.

And it's his undoing.

That look.

And before he knows it, he has shifted in his seat so that his knees ever-so-lightly brushes against hers. His skin flares and burns and it's these small, insignificant contacts that kill him. "I'll get you a new drink." Clay suddenly offers, the words rasping his dry throat like sand paper.

Haley raises her eyebrow and smiles at him, a hint of that playfulness usually reserved for Nathan, lighting up her features. "Trying to escape the boring wife of your client, huh?"

Clay can only give her a vague smile as he stands up to take Haley's glass from her hand. Their fingers briefly touch but he's pretty sure that he's the only one who felt something in his stomach twisting. Wonderfully. Painfully.

Clay is quick to turn away, trying to calm his heart as he heads over to the bar, glad that he'd thought of this brief little escape. A respite. He's never been a masochist. Never thought he'd subject himself to this kind of silly, self inflicted pain. And he's been at it for what felt like forever. Sometimes an hour spent with Nathan and Haley feels like a whole lifetime of trying to ignore every little touch and smile that the two would share. Spend an hour with Nathan and Haley, assuming you aren't in an adult-like kind of like with Nathan's wife, and you'd feel like you're watching a story spun right out of the pages of a fairytale book. The knowledge in itself is already torture. That and being alone with Haley. Fucking excruciating. It's something he wouldn't wish on anyone, even on his enemies. Well, maybe some of them.

And while he did, at some really sick twisted way, enjoy the painful-sweet-torment of Haley's silent company, the gentle scent of her perfume, he knows that he needs to be away from her before he does something incredibly stupid.

Like maybe lean forward, brush his nose against that little spot behind her ears, and tell her how good she smells.

Or worst, ask her to dance.

Clay knows shit about dancing.

He walks slowly, keeping his eyes forward, ignoring the little smiles The Cats were throwing his way and across the room, Clay spots Brooke, hobnobbing and holding court by the desert table, a cocktail drink on her hand, looking quite glamorous on her red sequined dress. She sees him from the corner of her eyes and she gives him a small nod before going back to the conversation, laughing at a joke she's sharing with a female assistant of one of the biggest sports editor in the state. Her laughter rings out across the room, garnering appreciative glances from practically ever male species inside the room.

Brooke seems to be enjoying herself, which is a good thing because Nathan had specifically told Clay to look out for her tonight, just in case she gets lonely, since Julian is away, on the set of his newest film in sunny, sunny CA.

"It isn't like a date, dude, okay?" Nathan had reminded him and Clay is absolutely certain that Nathan had nothing to worry about that because Brooke maybe the best looking girl he'd ever seen but she doesn't make his insides squirm every time he hears her laugh.

And anyway, Brooke doesn't look like someone who'd end up all by herself. At least he's never seen her without company. She's always with someone and she seems to genuinely enjoy being the center of the attention. In high school, she was the Prom Queen. It figures that she'd still wear her crown and this isn't meant to be demeaning or anything. She's still on top of the food chain, reigning It over the rest of the women her age. Of course, it can get lonely on top and it just shows that being alone and being lonely is two completely different thing.

Whether or not Brooke is feeling lonely now, Clay wouldn't know.

They're an odd circle of friends, Clay thinks as he approaches the bar. Nathan and Haley, Julian and Brooke. Even Lucas and Peyton - whom he'd met very briefly. The prolific writer and his record label-owner wife. The gifted pro basketball player and his equally gifted singer wife. The fashion icon and her Hollywood hotshot filmmaker boyfriend. Even the friends surrounding them seems to have the perfect life.

For real, the first time Clay met them, he'd been immediately struck by how all of them - himself included - were young and so very successful.

Did it ever get that good for other high school friends?

Although of course, success and happiness is almost always never the same thing.

Sometimes, Clay thinks he's living in some sort of altered reality. After all, this isn't like him at all. For starters, he doesn't go to the bar just to escape the smile of a woman, the allure of her. And he's always been fiercely loyal to all his clients. He's always been careful about drawing the line: this is his life, this is his client's life. There's a clearly defined line that separates it. He's never gone beyond that drawn line. But then he meets the Scotts and suddenly, he appreciates something that doesn't have anything to do with signing contracts, closing deals or winning games. He sees the warm, happy circle of friends and family and he feels that tug – insistent, unfamiliar – of wanting to be part of that.

Clay takes all of Nathan's invitation seriously and before he kmew it, he's somehow ingrained himself in Tree Hill. In the past few months alone, he had stayed at their homes, attended their private little moments more often than what was regarded as friendly-enough, but still within the strict limitations of agent-client dealings. Nathan has already told him about Jamie's upcoming birthday party and Clay's already thought of the perfect gift. Gifts, actually. But the point is, not all of these Scott Family bonding events he'd been going to have something to do with Haley.

Really.

He steadies the hand holding his and Haley's drink, just as he steadies that particular last conviction inside his head. When he hands her the drink, it's done almost impassively. The muttered "Here," is said without her name, without any affectation in his voice. And if he withdrew his hands a little too quickly to avoid touching her, well, that's loyalty, isn't it? So maybe he's still the same old Clay and maybe whatever this is – this thing about Haley, it's just a brief, fleeting _thing._

Haley accepts it with her usual gentle smile, thanking him, although upon closer inspection of her new drink, she flicks her eyes up to give him a questioning look, her brows squishing up in that adorable almost child-like way of hers.

He glances at her drink and he couldn't help but smirk. It's a brightly colored concoction. Amber-gold. It looks both sweet and something that will warm you inside and out. "The bartender says you'd have more fun with that drink." He cocks his head over to the side and Haley frowns at this, peeking over his shoulder. A second later, her brown eyes lights up with recognition as she finds Chase waving at them.

Did he mention Tree Hill is a small town? You always find a face from the past on every corner. Nathan told him this once. In a tone that didn't seem to be too happy about that particularly fact. They haven't been friends long enough for Nathan to tell him the things of the past. Sure, Clay knows about the overbearing ex-convict of a father who killed his own brother – Nathan and Luke's uncle – but nothing more had been said about that. And Clay didn't want to pry. He also didn't want to be let in on so completely into their lives that dirty, family secrets can be revealed to him during casual dinner conversations.

Clay shakes these thoughts away, watching Haley at the corner of his eyes as he settles back to his seat, deftly moving the chair a good, safe distance away from her. Haley is giving Chase a little wave of her own, her fingers curling, looking almost elegant and still inexplicably innocent. How can a hand look innocent? But hers does. These are the sort of thing Clay has to deal with every time he'd loose himself in watching all that is Haley James Scott.

A few moments later, she sets her drink down and turns towards him. Leaning forward to whisper conspiratorially, she tells him "Chase makes horrible drink." And then she winks at him, pretending to drink from the glass before raising it in the air, giving Chase a brief, supportive salute.

And just like that, they've shared a secret.

Clay doesn't know how he feels about this exactly but it makes him stupid. And giddy. And so without thinking about it, he offers his hand at her. "You're dancing with me."

Haley regards him for a second; her face is warm, open. Friendly. Almost heart wrenchingly so.

Clay swallows down something awful lodged in his throat

"Well, better than drinking Chase's…" Haley makes a face, "What is this drink anyway?" She asks, reaching out to accept his invitation.

Clay grasps her hand in his. Soft. Small. Delicate. Like he head always imagined it to be. Wonderfully warm. And Haley. Like a hummingbird inside his palm. "He named the drink after you." He tells her and Haley further scrunches up her face before laughing out loud.

"Oh! Ugh! I hope he isn't serving it to anyone else." Her eyes twinkle and Clay momentarily forgets that this is _Clay_ and that this is _Haley_. That it could never be.

He wordlessly leads her to the dance floor, maneuvering them towards a little corner where it isn't so crowded. Better here. More free space. There isn't any chance of them getting pushed together, unbearably closer, by other couples swaying to the music.

Clay settles his free hand on the small of her back. Deliberately shying away from the spot where the number 23 is tattooed on her back. He had caught glimpses of it and the first time he did, he had choked on his drink, with Nathan looking perplexedly at him.

"What's wrong with you, man?"

He never did get to answer that. And honestly, Clay wouldn't know where to start.

Branded. Belonged. Claimed. What else should it remind him of?

That's one of the things wrong with him.

Clay moves clumsily and Haley gives him an incredulous look. "Well, well, Mr. Smooth doesn't know how to dance." She idly comments, her tone is light, teasing. Kind.

Clay rolls his eyes, "I can guarantee you though, that I won't step on your toes." And this is also true, since he's very careful not to get too close to her.

It's a slow song, sure. But nothing dreamy or romantic. Just slow. Kind of like the songs bestfriends dances to. And although it may not be entirely safe, at least this isn't something Nathan would scowl about.

Clay hopes.

"By the way, Chase told me to tell you not to tell Nathan that he named a drink after you, because Nathan will definitely kick his ass."

Haley giggles, shakes her head. Her long hair, curled up on the ends brushes against Clay's arms and he masks the embarrassing teen-like shiver with a chuckle of his own. Happy that she's happy in his arms. Even if it isn't like that at all.

It's Haley's turn to roll her eyes. "Nathan would _not_ kick him in the ass for that."

Clay shakes his head. "Oh he would." He reminds her and he reminds himself as well.

Haley only blinks up at him and very briefly – almost maybe too brief for it to be actually real – something flickers in her eyes.

Clay ducks his head and proceeds to watch his feet shuffle against the dance floor. Her toes are painted red, he realizes. Something that seems so un-Haley like. But she surprises you with little things like that and it makes her more _Haley-_like.

You know what he means.

It takes him a whole second before he can finally look back up again but Haley's stare is far away and when he turns them around, he meets Brooke Davis' eyes.

Brooke looks at him and he stares back. Clay's not being defiant or anything. He is just returning the questioning look that Brooke is giving him. He isn't sure what's behind this look, because Brooke Davis can dress up anyone in the finest silks and in the deepest reds but she can also just as quickly strip someone bare. He's sure of this. Brooke is just that kind of a girl.

She raises her eyebrows at him and Clay is determined to be loyal. He is determined to not loose himself in any sort of fantasy. He shakes his head even when what he's really saying is: _"I know, Brooke. I know not to cross the line. I know where I belong. I know…"_

"There's my girl."

The interruption is so abrupt; Clay stumbles on his own two feet and steps unto Haley's toes. He grimaces as Haley lets out a small yelp, more out of surprise than pain.

Promises are sometimes broken, even when you don't mean to.

"'M sorry," Clay mumbles almost immediately, not sure who he's apologizing to and what for. But this is fine because he's already lost Haley's attention. Clay watches as Haley steps forward, giving Nathan her usual greeting.

"Hey you." Haley arms reaches forward to clutch at the lapels of Nathan's suit, pulling him towards her. Her eyes flutters open and a smile reserved only for Nathan lights up her whole face. "Hi."

"Hey Nate." Clay greets him as well, stepping away. "How was the conference?"

Nathan takes Haley's hand and brings it up to his mouth, kissing her knuckles tenderly, "I've missed you, baby." He tells her and Haley's smile widens, her eyes sparkles at the affectionate lilt in Nathan's voice.

"Missed you too." Her answer is breathless with equal parts confession and a promise. Blushing, Haley tilts her head a little, "Clay's been keeping me company." She tells Nathan, glancing towards him, smiling almost apologetically.

Nathan doesn't say anything. Doesn't even turn his head. Nathan is ignoring him. His jaws are tensed and clenched, eyes focused only on Haley. And because Clay is starting to really know these people, starting to finally piece together the little bits of their personality that makes them tick, he knows that Nathan is being totally fucking deliberate in not acknowledging his presence, in wordlessly wrapping both his arms around Haley and pressing her unto him so he could kiss her full on the mouth. Haley is on her toes, stretched against Nathan's full height and Nathan's hand brushes on the spot where his number is permanently etched on her skin.

And Clay knows that Nathan is making his point clear.

Clay will remember this. He stands there and bears it all.

As soon as the kiss ended and Haley has settled back to the ground, Nathan turns to him, something dark flickering on his eyes. "You don't mind if I cut in, do you?" There is the faintest hint of sarcasm on Nathan's voice and for a split second, Clay's eyes meets Haley and he's pretty sure he's just given Haley an "I told you so" look because Haley very subtly elbows Nathan.

Nathan doesn't flinch.

"Sure." Clay answers easily. He wishes there is a mask he can put on for things like this, one he can easily slip on, but there isn't. So if he grimaced or winced or shook his head in both disappointment and frustration, he couldn't help it. He turns to thank Haley and very quickly leaves the dance floor.

He goes back to his seat, finishes off his drink. One big burning swallow. There goes the Remy and the cheap champagne.

People who turn suddenly brave, they're either incredibly foolish, massively drunk or hopelessly in love.

In his case, he's… well, Clay isn't sure which of these options he likes best. So he decides to be massively drunk instead. He doesn't stay on his table to watch Nathan and Haley dancing. He mingles with the crowds, bumps into Michael Jordan, mumbling a quick apology and finally, he finds the blonde Lady Cat who had winked at him earlier. He buys her a drink. She laughs a lot. Touches his shoulder plenty of times. He did, at one point, leaned over to inhale her scent, on the spot just below her ears and he drunkenly, gently mumbles, "You smell so good."

He doesn't dance with her though, even when she begged him to, because he doesn't dance. Really. And when she starts to tell him, "But I just saw you…" he stops her and instead invites her to go up to his room.

He forgot to ask her name. It doesn't matter though. He's pretty sure that she would've told him her name if she had wanted to. Let them be two nameless people tonight. It's all he's asking for.

In the morning, when he woke up, the first thing he notices is the blinking red light on his phone. It's a voice mail. Bleary eyed, he retrieves the message.

It's Nathan. He's saying he's sorry for being an ass last night. He tells Clay that he knew there wasn't any reason for him to get angry and that he was out of line. Nathan sounds sincere. There's no grudging tone on his voice, which reassures Clay that Haley hadn't put Nathan up to this. Nathan ends the call by asking if Clay would like to join them for breakfast.

Clay glances at the clock. It's half past one and his nameless partner from last night had already left, leaving no trace of her. Nothing. Even the side of the bed she had slept in felt cold to the touch. It's almost as though she didn't even really existed. Like his loneliness had conjured her up just so he wouldn't be alone last night.

Clay lets out a small snort, decides that he'll never drink cheap champagne ever again. He calls Nathan back, gets his voicemail. An ideal, perfect scenario. To ease out any awkwardness from last night, he tells Nathan not to worry about it, it was nothing. A misunderstanding. And to make up for missing breakfast, Clay invites them for dinner instead. He doesn't include Brooke, although he's sure she'll tag along.

And it's nothing personal. It's just that, while he's ready to face Nathan and Haley and be all okay about last night, Clay is sure that he won't be able to stand the knowing look of sympathy from Brooke. He wouldn't be able to sit there and be okay about it because if he looks into Brooke's eyes, he'd be looking at the same expression on his own face and Clay doesn't want that. Isn't ready to face that yet. He knows what that look means.

Just to be sure, about the girl that is, he calls up the front desk, introduces himself and proceeds to inquire about the room number of one of the Lady Cats.

He keeps his eyes closed, relieves the memory of the dance. He takes special care to remember all the little details. The slow song. The way the light would hit Haley's hair every time they turned. The color of her dress.

The receptionist asks him who he's looking for.

He rewinds everything that he could remember about Haley, about the dance. About the night.

Clay swallows slowly. "Yeah. The girl, she's ugh... she's blonde. Green eyed. Real tall. Nicole? Oh! Yeah! Okay. Thanks."

Clay sinks deeper into his bed. He relieves everything. Like a movie. He does this for an hour or two. Maybe even four. He keeps it on playback, at the forefront of his mind. The song, the color of her dress, the way she smiled up at him. The little hummingbird inside his arms, his chest. his palm. Clay turns it over and over inside his mind until it starts to fade, until the song becomes nothing but the sound of a vacuum. Until the color of her dress and her eyes and her hair blends together. And then, when everything has become vague, unreal, he pushes it on that little corner of faded, forgotten memories.

And see, that wasn't so hard, was it?

-end-

Well, it's an odd ending - on a second thought, it's an odd story altogether. But yeah, the ending is bothering me. I couldn't end it. I was stumped and I'd probably go back to this again and do massive amounts of editing (like I did the last time) but I hope that you guys liked the update. Feedbacks are much much appreciated. Thank you for taking the time to read and review.


	4. Chapter 4

**When It Started**  
By Grace (purplemud)  
**Pairing**: Naley and you'd never guess.  
**Summary**: Three thousand nine hundred seventy-two miles. Three hundred sixty five days.  
**Warning**: Spoilers for episode 11.  
**Author's note**: A little post-Thanksgiving gift for **pam211 **(who has also beta-ed this fic. If anything is wrong with the fic, it's all on me). Thanks for all the awesome chats and e-mail exchange! I like living in a Clayley world where Quinn doesn't exist. Okay, she's there, but I'm just ignoring her. LOL. Thanks in advance for reading this. I hope it does not disappoint.  
**Disclaimers: **Standard disclaimers apply.

Three thousand nine hundred seventy-two miles. Three hundred sixty five days.

All that distance. All that time. Away from her.

Clayton thought that it would make a difference. Distance and time – best cure for a broken heart. Or unrequited love for that matter. He'd been so hopeful that with those two great realities, he would be cured of his feelings for Haley.

But his stubborn heart apparently did not recognize all those thousands of miles, the number of days of being away from Haley. All it knows, all that it feels is the punched-out hole inside of his chest.

At first it had been easy. Saying good bye to her had been surprisingly uneventful. He had driven her and Jamie to the airport and under Brooke's scrutinizing glare, he had hugged her and wished her luck. He'd thought about giving her a gift but had decided against it. The last thing he needs is Nathan calling him and asking him what the gift is for.

Clay swears that he had meant the goodbyes to be short and friendly but at the last second, his heart suddenly uncharacteristically asserting itself, he had bent down to kiss Haley's cheeks.

It was as though the very thought of not seeing her, not being with her had made him bolder, more foolish than ever.

Heart over mind. It was all instinct.

"I'll miss you."

In hindsight, Clay realized that he should not have said it. Not with his lips still on her cheeks, just barely grazing her skin, extending that friendly goodbye kiss into something just a little bit more – a gentle nudge of his nose against the spot where he made his heartfelt confession.

Pulling away from his arms, Haley had beamed up at him and then looking around, tearfully told everyone that she'd miss them all too.

Not just him or most especially him but _everyone. _

Clay was just one of her friends who she will miss, who she'll think of in passing, wondering how they were doing back home in Tree Hill. She'll maybe call him once or twice, but she won't spend hours and days in dazed misery: aching, wanting and needing to see him.

He wasn't the person she will the most. He wasn't the person she will constantly think of. Of the three hundred and sixty-five days that she will be gone, Haley will forget him most of the time and even if it isn't the cruel kind of forgetting Clay still felt little pinpricks of pain stabbing him in the heart.

It didn't hurt as much as he thought it would. Just that little twinge, a twitch inside his chest.

Clay had thought – had hoped – that it was a sign. That somehow he is starting to move on, that his feelings for Haley are starting to fade. But that little twitch, that insignificant little twinge, it grew into this hole and there wasn't anything that can fill it up. Nothing. No one.

Days passed, months passed.

Clay counts them all. He isn't supposed to, but he knows just how many days had gone by without seeing Haley's smile. Without hearing her voice.

The year stretches on and Clay finds himself spending more and more of his time sitting at his front porch trying to remember Haley's scent, the way she feels inside his arms, the way she'd call his name depending on her mood: sometimes playful, sometimes exasperated and frustrated - but she always says his name kindly, gently, like it's a precious, wonderful little object. He misses all of these. He misses her. Constantly.

And if you ask him, the thing he misses the most about her, Clay will have a different answer everyday. Some days it's the sound of her laughter or the way she'd be all tutor-like, spewing off random trivias (like the scientific name of a rabbit!). At night, Clay misses the way she looks when she's being serious, her brown eyes darkening into pools of lush caramel or coffee.

He tells himself that missing Haley is normal. It doesn't mean that he is still in love with her. Or worst, that his feelings had grown stronger. It is impossible, he tells himself.

But everything about Haley hits him harder and harder every day until she is all that he thinks of. Until she consumes him.

Once more, he dreams about her. He hopes for her.

* * *

Spain is his fault so he bears the punishment by staying in Tree Hill, haunted by everything that reminds him of her. It burns him, every single little memory of Haley, but it's alright. As long as there are traces of her around him. It reassures him that she'll be back. That this is where she belongs.

Clay is surrounded by friends who give bits of news about her, shares postcards she'd sent them. He follows Brooke around on one of her fashion shows, urging her to talk about Haley.

Brooke tells him all the wrong things. She does it on purpose too. She tells Clay about Nathan renting a romantic seaside villa, surprising Haley with a three day romantic getaway to London, where it always rains. Brooke tells Clay about the house Nathan is thinking of buying for Haley. Brooke tells Clay that Haley loves Spain.

Clay clenches his jaws. He knows what Brooke is trying to tell him and he patiently nods his head. He knows about the Villa and the rain and the house. He knows what it all means. With the way Brooke is talking to him right now, you'd think he's about to jump into a plane and fly off to Spain to try and steal Haley away from Nathan. Brooke should know better. She's supposed to know by now that Clay maybe all sorts of foolish but he isn't reckless and selfish. Clay isn't sure why Brooke is being a little too cruel tonight. It's completely unnecessary and Clay stops her before she mentions any renewal of vows at the beach.

Because Clayton knows about that too.

If Haley tells Brooke things, you can bet that Nathan tells him things too. And Nathan had told him all about it the other night when he called Clay to check on any NBA offers.

Clay had been working hard on negotiating a two year contract and things are looking up. By next year, there is a good chance that Nathan will be back in North Carolina, playing for the Bobcats. He'd told Nathan this good news and in return, Nathan shares his plans of marrying Haley all over again.

Officially, Clay's already been invited and he'd already said yes, but he'll probably find a way to be stuck at an airport in Madrid or maybe even at Tree Hill. Clay imagines how it would look: Jamie, too old to be the ring bearer will give Haley away, Nathan waiting with the priest, the familiar shit-eating grin plastered on his face.

And Haley in white, surrounded by the blueness of the ocean, everything about her that day will belong to Nathan.

Clay would have to be a true masochist to be able to endure that.

"It's at Gran Via, in Madrid." Brooke is telling him, handing him a picture of Haley standing in front of an old building. Clay accepts the offered picture. He feels the tug of his lips blooming into a smile and he quickly bows his head, his eyes immediately zeroing in on Haley's face, ignoring Brooke as she starts swooning at how romantic the Madrid looks.

Nathan must have taken the picture because Haley's smiling her Nathan-smile and everything behind her blurs into a mix of white and gray: the old romantic buildings, the amazing delicately detailed architecture that Brooke is talking about - it all fades into the background. Clay only sees Haley, her face tilted up, her beret placed crookedly, adorably on top of her head. She looks like a school girl in this picture, her hands playfully resting on her hips. There is something young and fun and flirty on her stance, like she is totally without any care in the world.

But the way she's looking at the camera is another thing. There is something intense in her eyes, a promise of something; just you wait for it, after dinner, after the candles at the dinner table had been blown out.

Haley has always been a combination of woman-child. Innocent and subtly seductive. And Clay can feel his gut clenching at the sight of her familiar smile. Bright and so far away from him.

More importantly, that smile, the secret, promising look: it isn't for him at all.

Still, the hole inside his chest closes up a little and for the first time in weeks, Clay feels like he can breathe again without wincing. He almost starts taking in deep, greedy, lungful breaths but restrains himself because he knows how incredibly weird he'd look, hyperventilating over a picture. Iniside his chest, his heart is jackhammering like crazy. He's never forgotten how beautiful Haley is, but seeing her face, captured in the soft lights of Madrid's sunset...she looks so alive and vibrant and joyful, her inner light shining through her. He is unaware that his thumb had started to gently caress the gentle curves of her cheeks, tracing the line of her mouth...

"I'll visit them next month," Brooke's voice breaks his reveries and startled, he looks back up at her again, uncomprehending.

"What?" Clay asks, frowning a little.

"Next month, we'll be in Spain. Me and Julian." Brook stresses the _me and Julian _part, as in "we" without you. She arches her eyebrows at him, waiting for a reaction.

Clay smiles at her. "That's great."

Brooke isn't convinced by the smile. She looks at him straight in the eye and adds: "Lucas and Peyton will be coming too." Her fingers reach out to take the picture from him. "It'll be like a reunion!"

And even thought the intent is deliberate and unkind, Clay can sense Brooke's genuine excitement at seeing Haley and Jamie and Nathan a month from now. He knows how much Brooke misses her friends and he doesn't begrudge her for trying to protect her friends.

"Sounds fun," is all that Clay can come up with, because he already knows why Lucas and Peyton will be going to Spain.

The renewal of vows.

Nathan had mentioned something about a favor. What was it? It wasn't being the best man, because Clay would definitely remember that. He tries to go back to his conversation with Nathan as Brooke finally snatches the picture from out of his grasp.

"It's perfect, actually!" Brooke informs him, now practically jumping up and down, "I'll have a series of small fashion shows in Europe and Julian will be scouting for locations of his next movie."

_Purple flowers_.

That's it.

Clay remembers Nathan asking him if he can ship purple flowers to Spain. He'd teased Nathan that Spain probably has purple flowers and Nathan had told him that there's a special kind and it has to come from Tree Hill.

Brooke is going on and on about her newest line and how the untapped European market has so much potential. Clay keeps the smile on his face. He feels it freezing over his features and he excuses himself before it starts cracking and falling apart. Brooke gets to see Haley. Julian too. They all have valid reasons to go see her. Clay will be stuck in Tree Hill, trying to ship a plane load of purple flowers.

Purple flowers and rain.

These are the things that his heart recognizes and he feels the hole stretching, stretching until it feels as though he's been eaten alive by it.

* * *

With Brooke and Julian gone for a month, Clay starts to spend most of his time at Tric where he imagines hearing her voice. Her song wafts inside his head, around him, shimmering like a mist, brushing against him and for the briefest seconds, he feels closer to Haley. He stays at Tric, nursing his drink, asking Chase to play Haley's song, just one last time. Chase doesn't say anything, just sadly looks at him and tells him to go home.

Glaring at Chase, Clay staggers out of Tric. Chase doesn't understand. The music, Haley's voice, it fills up a fraction of that hole.

Clay goes home and numbly watches hours of ACB, the Spanish league. He knows all the Spanish words: _tirar _(shooting), _defensa en zona_ (zone defense), _tiempo muerto_ (time out) _falta _(foul), _rebotear_ (rebounding), pick and roll (which is also how they say it in Spain). And Clay's personal favorite: _defensa hombre a hombre_ (man to man defense).

It's fucking amazing, actually. By the time Nathan comes home, they can talk basketball fundamentals in Spanish. It's easy, really. Ty falling asleep watching the ACB and waking up with ACB still blasting off your TV. Do this every day. It's the quickest way to learn a new language.

Aside from picking up a new language, Clay also knows the days that Haley goes to watch Nathan play. He sees glimpses of her in the stands. Her hair is lighter now. It falls past her shoulder in wonderful waves that leaves him shuddering, breathless, wanting to touch her.

He sits on his couch, playing that one game over and over. Nathan had scored a career high and won the game. Then the camera had zoomed out, panned over the crowd, and there she was: Haley.

Clay always ignores the little caption just underneath her image. It reads Haley James-Scott and the commentators are waxing Spanish poetry: her brown eyes, the delicate corners of her lips, the way she glows, the way she happily jumps into Nathan arms, kissing him on the mouth, tilting her face up so Nathan can drop a gentle kiss on her brows.

_Siempre y para siempre. _Always and forever.

In Spain, the men, when they see her waking along piazzas and old cobbled streets, they'll tell her: _"Usted tiene una cara de un angel"_

_You have a face of an angel. _

Clay is trying to learn Spanish. Those online translation sites are crap, but he wants to know what they're saying about her and Nathan.

He doesn't need a translator though to figure out what's going. She is happy in Spain. And three thousand nine hundred seventy-two miles away, Clay feels the punched-out hole in his heart slowly expanding.

Clay glances at a calendar beside him. It isn't marked, but he knows the day the Scotts will be coming home. He looks forward to it with dread and an almost aching, crushing, unbearable amount of excitement. The flurry of hummingbird-wings anxiously fluttering inside his stomach makes him wince.

Three thousand nine hundred seventy-two miles. Three hundred sixty five days. All that distance. All that time. Away from her and nothing has changed.

Clay still feels the same way he had felt for Haley and when they come back home, he isn't sure if he can be as strong anymore, if he can keep his distance.

He doesn't know what will happen on the three hundred and sixty sixth day. All he is sure of is, with or without Nathan watching, he'll take Haley in his arms, drop his head near her cheeks and tell her: I've missed you.

-end-

I hope you guys liked it. It's been a while since the last update and I supposed I should be working more on my Naley fics, but OTH is trying my patience with Quinn and so, well, I'll just happily go along with my Clayley obsession/madness. Let me know what you guys think. My sincerest thanks to everyone who have read and reviewed. I really appreciate it!


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